


Where Do I Go From Here?

by professorandre1228



Series: Comparing Monsters: Criminal Minds or Supernatural? [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Between season 7 and 8 of both Supernatural and Criminal Minds, Freakin' Witches, Heroes, Right place/right time, Serial Killers, That BITCH!, wrong place/wrong time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorandre1228/pseuds/professorandre1228
Summary: After JJ nearly loses Will, they end up at the hospital.  A stabbing victim's brother is out of his mind and pulls a gun to make the nurses and doctors in the ER save his brother.  Enter from behind a closed curtain, one Sam Winchester, filthy, exhausted, dehydrated, who steps in to take down the gunman and save them all.Why is Sam here? Where is Dean?  Where is Cas?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/William LaMontagne Jr.
Series: Comparing Monsters: Criminal Minds or Supernatural? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038048
Comments: 43
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

“I said, get over here and save him!”

The voice was loud, startling Sam awake. He blinked his eyes open in confusion, the fog and haze that he had been lost in for the past weeks as the desperation in his search for his brother and their friend had increased, parted for a moment of clarity. He was laying in an ER medical bay in a hospital. The curtain around his bed had been hastily pulled to, allowing the gap through which he could vaguely see people moving around. 

“Sir, waving a gun at the staff is only going to make them more nervous,” said a somewhat familiar voice, making Sam’s forehead crinkle. He looked down at himself, his clothes wrinkled and smelly, an IV in his left arm. “And distracted. And they will be so afraid of you shooting them or someone else and make mistakes. You don’t want that do you?” Sam huffed as quietly as he could, sitting up. He felt utterly exhausted and every movement was an extreme effort, drawing on energy he frankly didn’t have to give. 

A woman was sobbing somewhere to the left and a little boy was muttering over and over, “no, no, no.” 

Sam blinked heavily, forcing his vision to clear somewhat. He felt his pockets and checked around him, but none of his weapons were nearby. They’d either removed them when he had been brought in, or he hadn’t had them on him when whatever had happened to land him here happened. With a tired but quiet giggle, he heard Jess’ teasing voice in his ear. ‘Winchester ingenuity, activate!’.

“He’s not going to die because some upper class schmuck wants me to play nice with the nurses,” the gruff voice of the gunman yelled. “That bitch who stabbed him is going to die, but keep talking and I’ll make sure you go first.” Sam wobbled to his feet, almost absently reaching over to pull the IV out and let it dangle. He glanced around again, moving slowly as turning his head too fast made the room spin and sway. With a half-smile, he grabbed up the first hard object he saw that would light enough for him to carry. He peeked his head around the curtain and scanned the room. 

There were seven people on view. The man with the gun was wearing bloody jeans and a bloody shirt. His hands, gripping the handgun shakily, were also covered in blood. Sam surmised he’d been the one to find and bring in the victim. He was facing away from Sam, about three bays down. The hunter saw a nurse and a doctor squeeze around the gunman with their hands up as they went into the bay where he guessed the victim lay. At the end of the short hallway of curtains, one was halfway open and Sam could see a man laying in the bed with his shoulder bandaged, with a blond woman holding him down with on hand, a gun in her other. 

Sam blinked and shook his head, thinking she looked familiar. The man in the bed and the blond were mostly concealed from the gunman’s view but Sam could make them out from his angle. Standing just outside the half-closed curtain were two people who Sam honestly thought he’d never see again. Agents Rossi and Prentiss were both facing the gunman, hands up and open to show they had no weapons in their hands. He ducked his head back in before they noticed him. Taking a few deep breaths, he stuck his head out again and deliberately moved to get their attention, but put his finger to his lips so they’d know to not react. It didn’t quiet go as planned as both of their eyes flickered his way, then widened, causing the gunman to jerk his head around.

The hunter, moving faster than he should have, ducked back and held his breath, waiting for the shot to come through the flimsy curtain. The fast movement made the room spin and his stomach to roil unpleasantly, but he’d hunted monsters while in worse condition, so he was able to bite the inside of his cheek for enough pain to center him.

“What?” the man yelled after a moment. “Is there someone back there?” Sam heard him shift, knowing the man was coming in his direction. There were a few steps before Prentiss spoke up.

“So, what,” she said quickly. “A terrified kid runs away and you’re just going to leave the man you’re trying to save?” The movement stopped and there was another shift.

“Kid can grow up to be monsters,” the man muttered. Then there was movement back in the other direction.

“You’d really shoot a kid?” Rossi asked. “I thought you were all about saving your friend’s life.” Sam let out a quiet breath and blinked hard, widening his eyes to force them to stay open. The next time the gunman spoke, he’d make a move. 

“He’s my brother,” came the voice, and Sam moved as swiftly as the spinning room would let him. He was surprisingly steady as he whisper-stepped up behind the man and slammed the metal bedpan down on the guy’s arm, sending the gun clattering and skidding across the tile floor. Then on the backswing, as the man spun in surprise, caught him on the side of his head, effectively dropping the man. The power of his swing threw him off and as the agents were already moving to secure the gun and handcuff the gunman, Sam tottered sideways, like a drunk toddler, and bumped into the nurses’ desk, before sliding to the floor with a thunk. 

“Sam?” Prentiss asked, rushing to his side. She handed the gun she had grabbed up from the floor to the police officer who had rushed into the hallway as soon as the guy was down, and crouched next to him, grabbing up his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

Sam blinked slowly, then looked down at his arm where he’d pulled out the IV. He flexed his hand in her grip, then smiled drunkenly.

“Huh,” was all he got out before he was once again falling sideways into darkness. 

*****

It was chaos for the next few minutes as police rushed in, patients were moved to a different area, and nurses rushed over to help the man who had climbed from his bed and, even in his delirium, had taken down the gunman and saved them all before passing out again. The agents stepped back, letting the staff heft the filthy man back up into a fresh bed and reattached his IV. 

“Huh,” Rossi sighed thoughtfully, after Prentiss went back to check that JJ and Will were okay. He listened as the nurses cooed over Sam, hearing them calling him the ‘heroic homeless man’. He heard Prentiss tell JJ about the take down, but not mention that it was Sam Winchester. 

“You know him?” A nurse said, popping up beside his elbow. Rossi nodded.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, the concern evident in his face and voice. “What happened to him? What’s wrong with him?” ‘This time’, his mind whispered. The nurse’s eyes melted as she turned to look to where another nurse was checking his vitals. 

“He was brought in unconscious,” she said. “Some Samaritan found him out cold in an alley behind an occult shop. He’s malnourished, dehydrated, suffering from extreme exhaustion. I was honestly shocked to see him up and on his feet with how bad his bloodwork and vitals are. What’s his name?” She turned back to him and grabbed a file, his apparently, from the desk beside her. 

“Sam…uh, Sam Smith,” Rossi said, hestitantly. “He had no ID on him? His brother didn’t come in with him?” The nurse’s forehead crinkled.

“No, no brother,” she said. “He’s been in and out of consciousness for the last hour or so, mumbling about not being able to find someone named Dean. Is that his brother?” Rossi saw Prentiss coming back towards him from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah. We just saw them like two, three months ago,” he said softly. Prentiss stopped, listening in, her eyes also on Sam.

“What was his condition at that time?” the gooey-eyed nurse asked, glancing over at the hero of the hour. 

“He wasn’t so hot in the beginning, but his brother and their friend showed up,” Prentiss started, her voice revealing how stunned she was. “But he was doing great before they left. They all were.” She shared a look with Rossi, who shrugged with his eyebrows. 

“Well, unless I can find some insurance information on him, there’s not much we can do for him,” said the nurse finally. “We’ll continue with the fluids and get some nutrients in there too. After that, maybe a bath and some clean clothes. But most homeless people refuse social services. I can try though.” She sighed sadly. Rossi reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“No, I’ll cover whatever he needs for now.” He handed over his ID and a credit card. “It seems he’s been through a lot lately.” The nurse’s smile was beatific as she took the cards and nodded. 

“You’re a good man. And after what I saw today, I have no doubt that young man deserves some good in his life.” She turned to put his information into the system.

“Rossi,” Prentiss said quietly. “What is going on here? Where’s Dean? And Castiel? And what happened to him?” Rossi’s eyes stayed on the sleeping giant who was getting some of the dirt and blood cleaned from his arm by a nurse. 

“That’s what I’d like to find out.” He shook his head, glancing over to the bay where JJ was sitting at the foot of Will’s bed as his shoulder was being stitched up. “It’s been a rough day. But I think I’m going to stay here with Sam until he wakes up.” Emily nodded at him.

“I’ll call Garcia and have her start looking for his brother and the angel.” Rossi half-nodded as she walked away, before he seated himself in the vacant chair next to Sam’s bed. 


	2. Short Answer? I Don't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rossi talks to Sam in the hospital, then takes him home to keep an eye on him.
> 
> * Edited to correct chapter.

The next time Sam opened his eyes, half a day had passed. He’d been cleaned by the hospital staff and put into some donated scrubs. Rossi had followed the unconscious patient from the ER bay up to this room, his phone glued to his ear as he conversed with Garcia, Prentiss, and a party planner. Between calls, he’d spoken more in depth to the nurse assigned to Sam, as well as the doctor who came in to check on him. Due to certain restrictions, the most he was able to get out of them was where and how he was found, as well as his basic medical condition and what treatments they were giving him, such as saline and nutrient infusions. 

He had watched Sam’s eyelids twitch for the past half hour before they shot up and the hazel eyes, rimmed in red, stared at the ceiling in confusion before blinking and turning to look at him. His forehead wrinkled in further confusion, but the memory from earlier must have settled in as his face smoothed out and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his gaze was shuttered, emotions hidden behind tense facial muscled. 

“Agent Rossi,” Sam rasped, then coughed. Rossi held the water cup with a straw for the young man, allowing him to sip it. 

“Hello, Sam,” Rossi replied with a soft smile. “I guess I get to be the first to thank you for disarming the guy downstairs.” Sam huffed. 

“You’re welcome then, I guess,” he said, looking around the room. “Um, Not really sure how I got here.” 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the agent asked, leaning back and crossing his legs. Sam scrunched his face as he thought hard about that, and used the time it took to use the bed controls to sit up better to gather himself. 

“A vampire and a demon,” Sam finally said. Rossi’s eyebrow went up and he shifted at the memory of his own demon possession. “I was trying to summon Crowley again, but some minion and a vampire he was working with showed up instead. The demon told me he had a message from Crowley to stop summoning him as he was not going to give me any information or give back Kevin.” Sam’s face fell and he rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away tears before they could fall. 

“Not that I’m not dying to hear the whole sordid tale, but where is your brother? Castiel? Meg?” Sam chuckled darkly and looked up at the ceiling, his eyes still watering, but none falling. 

“Short answer? I have no freaking idea.” Rossi patiently watched the hunter shake his head, before looking at him again. 

“After the incident downstairs was cleared up, I put Garcia on tracking down Dean, Castiel, and Meg, and she’s stumped.” Sam nodded. “She can track you up until being brought in here, but Dean and Cas just dropped off the map a few months ago. Not long after the last time we saw you guys in Vegas.” 

“Cas got his sanity back, sort of,” Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Then he and Meg joined me and Dean in bringing down the Leviathans. We met Kevin, the new prophet,” he said with an uptick in a partial smile before it faded, “then Kevin and his mom were kidnapped by Dick Roman-.” Rossi sat up suddenly.

“Dick Roman? As in Richard Roman Enterprises?” Sam cringed, ducking his head. “We found his body, or well, his arm, a few months ago in an investigation as part of a huge FDA scandal with illegal additives that Sucrocorp were putting into food.”

“He, uh, has been dead for a while. A leviathan was pretending to be him and took over his corporation. The ‘additives’ were to make humans fat, lazy, and more…‘tasty’.” Rossi felt the blood drain from his face as he leaned back. 

“’Tasty?’” He parroted. Sam looked up and nodded.

“Anyway, we stopped them by killing Leviathan Dick, but when he exploded, both Dean and Cas had disappeared. Then Crowley showed up and snapped away with Kevin and the Leviathan tablet. And Meg disappeared, but I think that’s Crowley’s doing, too.” Sam took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. “and I’ve looked. Man, I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve talked to anyone who would talk to me and some who didn’t want to. And either no one knows where Dean and Cas went or they won’t tell me. And I am one man against all of Hell.” Rossi hummed in sympathy.

“Well, you look like hell.” This prompted Sam to bark a laugh. 

“I haven’t really paid attention to laundry or showering. Been kind of distracted.” He looked down at his clean skin and the scrubs. “Kind of feels nice to at least be clean. But I could do without the scrubs and white walls.” Rossi laughed at that one, shaking his head. 

“So, where have you been living? The guy who brought you in said you appeared homeless and without ID…,” Rossi raised his hands in a shrug.

“I pretty much am homeless. I mean, I have Dean’s car, but I’m not sure where I left her.” He scrunched his nose. “I’m betting my ID is in the trunk. When I left to summon Crowley, I was pretty sure he was going to be a real dick, so I left everything except the demon knife, an angel blade, and the ingredients in the trunk. I’m betting they didn’t find the knife or blade on me, huh?” Rossi shook his head.

“Not from what Garcia was able to find out from hospital and traffic cameras. And the guy who brought you in is on the up and up. Just a good Samaritan.” Sam nodded, fidgeting with his hands. 

“Okay, so, where am I? I remember the alley, but that was in DC?” Rossi gestured around.

“Welcome to Quantico. I’m not sure if you noticed downstairs with how out of it you were, but Prentiss and JJ were there with me. The guy in the bed is JJ’s fiancé.” When Sam’s eyebrows went up slightly, Rossi chuckled. “I’ve used the quiet time here working with a planner to set up, host, and cater their wedding in my backyard tonight. Wanna join us? Seems like you could use a good meal and maybe some company that isn’t out to kill you on sight.” Sam chuckled, scrubbing both hands over his face. 

“Not sure I’ll be any kind of company and personally,” he said throwing his hands out to indicate his own body, “I’m not sure scrubs are entirely appropriate.” Rossi eyed him critically, then smiled mischievously. 

“I’ve got a great tailor on speed dial and you can stay with me until you get back on your feet.” Sam shifted and narrowed his eyes to stare at the agent critically. 

“Why would you do that? I mean, you’ve met me once and as I recall, it wasn’t a good time for any of us. You got possessed and the only thing you knew about me and Dean before then was that we were on your most wanted list for atrocities that even made me sick to think about.” He seemed honestly surprised and confused, when Rossi merely nodded. 

“Meg showed me some things,” he sighed. “Let’s just say that I have an entirely new perspective for what the Winchesters did and why, even if there’s still a lot of unanswered questions.” He tilted his head at the man on the bed. “I get the feeling you don’t exactly have good experiences with law enforcement.” Sam did laugh this time. 

“Amazingly, I have made some really good friends in law enforcement. We have just always done our best to not drag anyone else into the madness that is our lives if we can avoid it. It’s more like the last few months have been pretty…pretty horrible.” They shared a look of understanding. “But, um,” he coughed, “I’ll take you up on a place to crash for a few days. If it won’t put you out.” 

Rossi chuckled, leaning forward to pat the man on his bicep. 

“When you see my house,” he smirked, “you’ll understand why I say it really won’t put me out.”

*****

“Is it really wise, sir,” Garcia asked nervously as she eyed the tall man in the tailored white shirt and dark gray slacks that was nervously standing in the corner, as though trying to hide behind the staircase railing. She raised an eye appreciatively at the way the shirt hugged his skin to outline the muscles he still had. He had his hair pulled back into a ponytail and was wearing fake glasses to throw off his appearance. The BAU team knew who he was, as did Will, after JJ had sat him down for a long conversation once they’d been released. Everyone else was kept in the dark and the cover story was that he was Penelope’s plus one for the evening and was an awkward IT guy. It kept most people’s questions away from his work, even if the friendly group kept trying to include him in discussions. He held his own with Reid in philosophy discussions, with Garcia in computer architecture, data and physical, and law and ethics with Hotchner. 

It was after the beautiful ceremony and JJ and Will had headed home, taking little Henry with them, Jack had gravitated to the inanely tall man who kept trying to slip away to his assigned room. 

“I like your glasses,” Jack said from the neighborhood of Sam’s knees. Hotch had tensed, wondering how the deadly hunter would interact with his son, but smiled when he saw Sam crouch down and begin interacting congenially with the boy. Within a minute or two, they were laughing about something. Jack had leaned over to whisper something in Sam’s ear, causing him to pause in thought. Hotch began to make his excuses so he could gather his son for their exit, but when Sam smiled from ear to ear and quietly replied to Jack whatever he’d been asked, Jack’s face lit up and he threw his arms around the tall, slender man, knocking him off balance. 

Rossi had explained to the group quietly, with Prentiss there to confirm, that Sam was not in good shape. But as the giant and the little boy rolled suddenly, Hotch gasped when Sam twisted quickly, pulling his arms around Jack in such a way that it cushioned him and allowed the big man to take the full brunt of the impact when they hit the concrete patio, then rocked against the metal pergola strut. Hotch was jogging over as they sat back up. He watched Sam pull his hand from where it had been protecting Jack’s head and neck and ask if he was okay. 

“I’m okay,” Jack giggled. Sam smiled and shifted to stand the boy up before rising to his knees. His hand went gingerly to the back of his head, where he winced, feeling a small bump. Jack immediately became apologetic. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Sam smiled at him.

“No, Jack. I’m just a clumsy giant and your hug made me so happy I forgot to not be clumsy.” He put up his hands in a mock shrug, making Jack giggle again. 

“Sam,” Hotch said, stopping by his son. His quick once over showed him the boy was not injured in the slightest. With a sigh, he held out a hand to help Sam stand up, which he gratefully accepted and not so gracefully managed. “Anything I can do?” Sam waved him off, Aaron noticing some slight blood on the tips of Sam’s fingers. But the movement was swift and hid the evidence from the boy. 

“Nah, just need some more sleep. Guess this is my cue to bow out and go to bed, huh?” He smiled down at Jack, who beamed up at him. 

“You remind me of the BFG,” Jack snickered, tilting his head. A raised eyebrow from Sam had Hotch explaining.

“Big Friendly Giant, storybook.”

“Ah, I guess that would be me.” He winked at Jack and then gave Hotch a half-smile that was beginning to waver. “Can you give everyone my apologies. I need to lie down.” Hotch nodded, watching his son and Winchester wave at each other happily until Sam climbed the stairs, the tiredness showing in his slow, methodical steps. As soon as he disappeared into the hallway where Rossi had said he would be resting, he looked down at his son. 

“So, Jack, what had you and Sam giggling so much that you fell over on him?” Jack smiled up at him, a bright smile, full of teeth.

“He told me the same as you did, that imaginary friends are there to help kids, and that he had one when he was a little kid. And his helped him when he was lonely. I like that he had a friend like mine to keep him company.” Jack swiveled his shoulders happily, turning and humming as he waited for his dad to usher them out of the party. 

“Hmmm. That is nice to hear. So, you ready to go, buddy?” He glanced over at Rossi, who raised an eyebrow. 

“Can I saw goodbye to everybody?” the boy asked. Hotch smiled, running a hand over his head. 

“Sure, Jack. Do it quickly.” As the boy ran over to where Penelope and Spencer were talking about the ceremony earlier, Rossi ambled over with a wine glass in his hand. 

“Hotch.” 

“Just a heads up, Jack bowled over Sam, making him fall and hit his head on the concrete earlier.” When Rossi opened his mouth, Hotch stopped him. “Jack’s fine. Sam protected him, but I think he might have hit his head harder than he let on. He went up to bed, but I thought I’d let you know so you can check on him later.” Rossi nodded, glancing up the stairway to where Sam had disappeared. 

“Sadly, he’s hiding a lot more than a bump on his head.” 

“Hmmm, I don’t disagree.”


	3. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the wedding. Sam dreams. Memories in Baby's trunk.

They all knew about Emily’s decision to leave but made it more about the celebration of their time with her, as well as happiness for her new job so that there would be no depression to mar the happiness of JJ’s and Will’s wedding. After the newlyweds and their son left for the night, everyone else began to drift out as well. The relatives of the happy couple were next to leave, thanking Rossi for the venue and the planning.

Hotch left not long after, hand in hand with Jack. Kevin and his date awkwardly said goodbyes to Garcia, Morgan, and the rest. Strauss and her friend looked at Rossi thoughtfully as she knew there was a lot more to the young man who had made his exit earlier but trusted that Rossi and the team would inform her if it needed her input, hopefully. Within an hour, the only ones remaining were Reid, Prentiss, and Rossi himself. They were sitting around one of the tables in the still lit backyard, each with a beverage of their choice. 

“That was beautiful,” Emily said, sipping her glass of wine. She leaned forward and smiled at them. “I’m really going to miss you guys.” Rossi tipped his glass of aged whiskey at her and bowed his head. Spencer rolled the tall glass of water between his fingers. 

“You know, Garcia told me after Sam went up to bed, that she’d found Sam’s car. It had been found ‘abandoned’ near the National Museum of Natural History. She’s having it brought to your house, Rossi. Probably tomorrow or the day after.” He sipped his water. Rossi nodded appreciatively.

“I’ll never underestimate that girl’s resourcefulness.” Prentiss barked a laugh, nearly choking on her wine. 

“Amen to that. The team is lucky to have her.” They all raised their glasses in salute. 

*****

Wherever he was, it was dark and wooded. There was no light besides the moon, however, even that was scarce. He stood and looked around, trying to place where he was. It was an unearthly quiet as there were no birds, no insects. There were sounds of beasts, but they sounded more like the werewolves and such that they had hunted in the past rather than the creatures of the natural world. It was also hazy, like a thin veil lay over it, not just at ground level, but all the way up and around. There were brief flashes of movement, which made his heartrate jump, but it wasn’t threatening. Not to him at least. 

“Hello?” He called out softly, then louder when nothing changed. “Anyone there?” He turned in a circle, then a flash of movement that raced directly towards him made him flinch back. The last view was of a dirty humanoid with vampire teeth bared as it went through him as though he were smoke. 

The scenery changed and suddenly he was standing by a river in what looked like the same forest, now lit by muted sunlight. It was still hazy but he could tell it was wild and untamed, but it was still quiet of natural animals. There was only the sound of the trees, the wind, and the river. He wandered to the water’s edge, looking down. The water in the shallow water there was less hectic, but still moved too much for a reflection. Yet, crouching down, he saw Cas’s face reflected back for a split second. 

“Cas!” He yelled and reached out, but as soon as his fingers hit the cold surface, the scenery flashed again. He was in another part of the forest, far from the river. He wasn’t sure how he could tell, but he just knew. ‘Cas!’ was echoing through the trees around him and he jerked in the direction he’d thought it came from. 

There was a bright flash that made his head spike with pain and his vision to blur worse than the haze, but in that moment, he’d seen Dean, stalking confidently through the underbrush, head up, eyes scanning. Those green eyes looked over and through Sam as he reached out in astonishment to see his brother, who also looked very rough and wound up, like he’d be hunting something that was toying with him, pissing him off. 

“Dean!” he yelled, the pain spike growing, but when the flash came and the scenery change happened, he found him far, far away. He was lying in a soft bed, with dark sheets and tall cathedral windows. This room was familiar somehow and he blinked in pain as he rolled to his side, seeing the pale light from a door off to the side. He realized he was still wearing the slacks and dress shirt, but had pulled off the shoes, fake glasses, and freed his hair before tumbling into the soft bed. A soft groan as his stomach roiled and twisted and some extra effort had him rolling off the bed onto his feet, stumbling towards the light that he recalled was an attached bathroom. He put a hand to his head, feeling it throbbing strongly. With a surge, he fell to his knees at the toilet and began throwing up everything he’d eaten since he’d awoken this morning. 

“Sam?” A gruff voice called from behind him as he groaned around the last of the bile and laid his head against the cool porcelain. Swallowing, he tried to grunt, but only ended up dry heaving. The bathroom door swung open and Rossi stepped quickly in behind him. He crouched behind Sam, laying a concerned hand on his shoulder. “You okay, kid?” Sam took a slow breath as the heaving stopped and simply shook his head. Rossi patted his shoulder as he stood to get a cool, wet cloth that he laid against the back of the hunter’s neck after lifting the hair away. 

Sam sighed. 

“Headache,” He muttered once he was sure he wouldn’t begin heaving again. Rossi nodded as he reached to hand Sam a second wet cloth to wipe his own face. Once he was able to lean away from the toilet, the agent closed the lid and flushed with a grimace, taking in Sam’s pale face and tightly closed eyes. He went back into the bedroom and turned on one of the bedside lamps, then returned to turn off the bathroom light, leaving Sam to sit in the dim, cool room. “Thanks.”

“Hotch said you hit your head,” Rossi said once he had gotten a cup of water from the sink and handed it to Sam to wash out his mouth. Sam huffed a self-deprecating laugh as he handed the half-empty cup back. 

“Better me than Jack. But it’s not that bad.” Rossi grunted.

“I guess I really should have insisted you stay up in bed tonight.” Sam cracked one eye and stared up at the Italian man. 

“Not a concussion. I think it was a vision.” Rossi’s eyebrows shot up.

“Vision?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. Sam nodded slowly, bringing his hand up to rub at his forehead, elbows on his bent knees. 

“Maybe. I don’t know. Hurts like a vision, but I haven’t actually had one since…,” he glanced guiltily at Rossi, “for a long time.” The agent could tell that’s not what he had been going to say, but let it go for now. He’d gotten enough from Meg’s internal show and tell to know Sam didn’t need to be harassed for the darker side of his life story right now. “Maybe it was just a dream.”

Rossi helped Sam up off the floor and back to sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam unbuttoned the shirt, pulling it off gently, frowning at seeing it all wrinkled like that. 

“It’s tailored to you,” he told him, taking it and laying it over the back of the padded chair close by. “Garcia found your car and is having it delivered here tomorrow or the day after.” Sam nodded, laying back against the headboard.

“Thanks. Dean would kill me otherwise.” He shook his head with a laugh. “I forgot to say this before, but you have a really nice house.” Rossi shrugged, sitting in the chair and crossing his legs.

“Some would say I have more money than I know what to do with.” He smirked. “But I like to think this house and the grounds were a good investment.” Sam smiled at him. “If you’re sure it’s not a concussion, can I offer some ibuprofen or maybe acetaminophen?” 

“Either, or. Prefer something for a migraine if you have it,” he grimaced, rubbing his forehead again. Rossi nodded and stood, turning at the door. 

“I’ll bring you some of Marla’s soup. For after the medicine kicks in. Will be good on your stomach and Marla would rearrange my entire library if she thought I wasn’t taking care of my guests.” He and Sam shared a chuckle, then Rossi headed downstairs to grab some bottles of water, the migraine strength over the counter medicine he kept in his study for when he got so wrapped up he forgot to eat or sleep, and to warm a bowl of Marla’s chicken broth soup for the hunter. 

Still leaning against the headboard, Sam laid his head back and sighed. 

“Dean, Cas, where are you guys?”

*****

“I forgot how beautiful this car is,” Rossi whistled as he ran his hand over the sleek, black roof of the Impala as the tow truck driver finished unhooking it. “She’s in such beautiful condition, even if she could do with a wash and tune up.” He leaned his head to look through the window into the worn, but intact leather of the interior. 

“Interestingly enough, the trunk capacity is quite generous. It’s large enough to fit a body comfortably,” Spencer said with his hands in his pockets as he walked slowly around the muscle car. Rossi looked up at him.

“You scare me sometimes, Dr. Reid.” Spencer smiled shyly. 

“Actually, you can fit several bodies at a time, but that’s not what we use it for,” Sam said, leaning against the garage door frame to give himself a moment of rest before stepping completely back into the world of hunting. They both looked up at him. The tow truck driver just shook his head, waved a hand and climbed in his truck to drive away. Sam stepped down into the large space with a glance around at a few of the other cars agent Rossi had stored in other areas. “Dean would love a tour.”

“Well, when we find him, I’ll be happy to provide one,” the Italian smiled. He stepped back as Sam crouched to reach into the wheelwell for a hidden key. 

“On the positive side, if I don’t find Dean’s keys, he may just come back just to kick my ass,” Sam chuckled sadly. He stood up shakily with one hand braced on the side panel, then went to the trunk. Putting the key into the lock, he took a deep breath, then looked at both of them. “Um, just remember what we do and that nothing you see in here has been used on anything completely human.” 

“Human is subjective,” Rossi said, tilting his head. Sam blinked, then nodded. Another breath and he popped the trunk. 

On the whole, Spencer found the initial opening of the trunk to be anticlimactic. It appeared to be empty excepting two duffel bags stuffed with what he guessed were clothes, a shoebox containing fake IDs, as well as Sam’s missing wallet, and Dean’s keychain with the car’s original key and a few other seemingly random keys. Sam immediately gasped, grabbing the wallet and keyring and pocketing them, as well as pulling out both duffels, laying them on the ground by his feet, leaving the trunk to appear empty.

Taking a deep breath, Sam glanced at both the agents. Rossi looked interested but Spencer appeared confused. Until Sam reached down and pulled up the false bottom. Then there were twin gasps as he lifted the shotgun they used to prop the false bottom up. He leaned one hand on the rear of the car and began pointing to various weapons. 

“Shotguns with salt rounds for ghosts, ghouls, rakshasa, among other things. Machetes for beheading vampires. Holy water for vampires, demons. Different kinds of bullets denoted by either the box or a symbol etched in the casing when we make them. You have silver for werewolves and zombies, wrought iron bullets for shtriga witches and tulpa. These are for the Colt.” He points to an antique revolver etched with occult symbols. When Rossi reaches for it, Sam stops his hand gently. “It can kill just about anything. Legend says there are only five things in all creation that it cannot kill. So far we’ve figured out that it’s God, the archangels, not that there are any floating around free, Death, and the Leviathan. Not sure about the last one. Maybe Eve? But Dean took her out with phoenix ash.” 

“Eve? Like Adam and?” Spencer asked. Sam shrugged and nodded.

“Mother of all monsters,” he said. “Not sure if she was Adam’s Eve but that’s what she called herself.” He cleared his throat and went back to pointing out different items. “Evergreen stakes, for some pagan gods. Mistletoe stake for a trickster.” He flinched when he said that. “Um, Knife of the Kurds, but Dean just calls it Ruby’s knife. Kills demons and most lesser things. Bronze dagger. Dip it in lamb’s blood and it kills djinn. Taser for rawheads. Flame thrower for rugarou. Flare gun for wendigo. And on and on.” 

“Wow, Sam,” Spencer said finally. “So, is all of this knowledge passed from hunter to hunter? Are there stores that are just for hunters?” Sam turned and sat on the edge of the trunk, pulling out Dean’s 1911 and handling it gently before putting it back in it’s casing. 

“Some is shared knowledge. Most is based on research of lore and sometimes trial and error.” He caught the grimace on both their faces and grimaced along with them. He rubbed a spot on his shoulder. “Yeah, as a hunter, you learn fast or you die fast. As for stores, there are lots of places that look normal, usually new age shops or such, but there’ll be a symbol on the doorframe or above the door that let’s hunters know they have special supplies.” He shrugged, picking up the evergreen stake. “Some you learn on the fly. This was used to kill two pagan gods who killed people at Christmas because they weren’t being offered sacrifices anymore.” He flexed his hand after putting it back in the holder. “Lost a fingernail to their ritual, but it was very satisfying to discover breaking their live Christmas tree and stabbing them with it would end their murdering days.” 

“Sounds like you guys have lived interesting lives,” Rossi said cautiously.

“I read all the books and anything else Garcia found online that looked to be legitimately by Carver Edlund,” Spencer started, noting that Sam looked away, but nodded. “Did all those things really happen?” Sam kept his breathing even and calm as he turned back to look at the young doctor.

“How far did you get? What was the last story you read?” Rossi’s eyebrows were caught permanently at his eyebrows as he watched Sam and Spencer talk. 

“’Like a Virgin’,” he said, frowning, “but that seems to be the last one that Garcia and I could confirm as matching Edlund’s style and syntax.” When Sam tilted his head in thought, Spencer hurried to fill in the gaps. “Um, dragons stealing girls and you got your soul returned by Death.” Sam’s eyes went wide and he nearly fell backwards into the trunk. He cleared his throat and stood up, pacing away from the trunk.

“Yeah, I, uh, can confirm that one’s real.” 

“Which part?” Rossi asked in shock. Sam stopped and swallowed hard. 

“All of it.” He came back quickly, closed the false bottom, put Dean’s duffel back into the trunk and closed and locked it, pocketing the keys. Without waiting for either of them to speak, he grabbed his own duffel and headed back inside at a fast clip, leaving Rossi in confusion and Spencer’s face pale as he realized the implication of that bit of knowledge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me. This is going to make more sense as I have already gone off canon.


	4. Tragedy and Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garcia's research and Sam hits a dog.

“Sir?” Garcia’s hesitant voice came from the doorway, causing Hotch to look up from the report he was finishing up that would go along with Emily’s record. She had already flown out, but HR just needed to close out her active file. He saw the vibrant woman in front of him wringing her hands as she shifted just inside the doorframe. He frowned in concern, closing the folder over Prentiss’ exit report, and gesturing at Garcia to enter. She nodded jerkily, then surprised him further by closing his door before coming to perch on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. 

“Penelope,” he said soothingly when she didn’t immediately speak. “You know you can speak freely in here.” She nodded jerkily again and swallowed.

“After last night,” She started, her voice low, as though not wanting it to carry through the closed door, “I did some further research on some of the things Sam and Rossi told me.” She paused, looking down at his desk, reaching out and nervously straightening bronze paperweight on his desk. 

“And?” He prompted, folding his hands over the folder and leaning in just a little.

“Oh, sir,” She said, eyes wide, mouth gaping. “It’s bad. So very bad.” She gathered her thoughts, appreciating his quiet patience. “I dug into Sucrocorp and Richard Roman and oh, there were so many dotted lines and dangling threads. And the things they thought had been erased. Oh, I woudn’t wish the Winchesters’ lives on even our unsubs, sir.” Hotch sighed. 

After their first encounter with the brothers, the angel and the demon, he’d asked Garcia to do some discreet digging, away from the FBI servers. They’d all dug into the book series that were supposedly written by a prophet, with Reid obviously finishing well before the rest of them, and with their acceptance of a new perspective that came from walking dead, the Heavenly Host, demons, Lucifer, the averted apocalypse, and on and on, it was still not easy to grasp that those books weren’t fiction. Some of the things, the people, the manipulation, it showed it to be what it was. A master manipulation by the forces of Heaven and Hell and two brothers who could only really rely on each other, but had proven against all odds, that without the other by their side, the entire world was in danger. 

“Were you able to find anything more about Dean or Castiel?” He prompted as she caught her breath. She huffed and shook her head.

“No, it’s like Sam said. They’re just not anywhere. I mean, Sam kind of went off the grid himself after the explosion at the Sucrocorp plant that prompted the FDA investigation but I could still sort of track him. But his brother, oh man, he just vanished. And Castiel, there was nothing about him or the James Novak he was listed as before. Both of them, poof. And then when they found Roman’s arm and all the black goo and the utter chaos afterwards as everything they made were pulled from shelves to be evaluated before being destroyed.” She shuddered. “I read some of their redacted reports and I have never been so happy to be vegetarian in my life.” 

“I’m assuming you’re compiling all of this for the team?” She nodded, then held up her hand.

“There’s so much more,” she huffed. “There was this crazy hermit hacker by the name of Frank Deveraux and he, sir, was the Hawking of the hacking community, to put it in terms you’d get. Not that you wouldn’t get it otherwise, sir, but-,” she gushed forth realizing Hotch was smirking at her.

“It’s fine. I get it. Best of the best. Continue.” She took a calming breath before launching into the next bit.

“Well, sir, some hunters found the camper he was living out of in the woods and there was nothing left. Sir, nothing. I couldn’t look at the pictures, but from the reports, it was absolutely feral. There was blood sprays all over the walls, the ceiling. All his equipment had been destroyed. But there was no body, sir. Just, um, bits. Tiny bits that they found. And now knowing what Sam told us about Leviathans…” she grimaced. 

“You believe he was…eaten.” She nodded.

“Yes, sir. And there was an employee in IT in Richard Roman Enterprises that went missing not long before we first met Sam and Dean in Las Vegas. Her name was Charlie Bradbury and she was also seriously skilled. And that’s not her real name, but that’s neither here nor there.” Hotch raised an eyebrow in question. She shook her head and barreled on. “I was able to track her down under a gamertag and send her a coded hacker’s message asking about the Winchesters. And she only sent one response, also coded, but basically she said they had saved her life and pretty much the world, but they’d told her to run and hide and she was doing that.” Hotch nodded.

“We’ve seen a lot of that in the reports we’ve gotten. Civilians saying the Winchesters had saved them and such.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheek as he realized that he’d forgotten to shave this morning. “What about family? Is what we’ve read and been told so far true?” Garcia’s face fell and she whined a little.

“Oh, sir,” she said sadly. “It’s an epic tragedy, but I guess that ties in with the epic destiny they avoided. Their mom died when Sam was 6 months old; Dean was only four. According to the books, it was a demon. He was there to feed Sam his blood to prepare him to be Lucifer’s vessel and the demon killed his mom when she tried to stop him. Their dad was harder to track down, but with the references in the books, I found his death certificate under a fake name. The report from the hospital matched the books description, with the obvious exception of ghost Dean and the reaper and all that. But the book said their father sold his soul to the demon that had killed their mother to save Dean.”

“Oh,” Hotch said. She nodded, wiping the bottom edge of her eyes. 

“And their uncle, not by birth, but the one the books said was more a father than their own father, Bobby Singer…Sir, he died right before Sam ended up in that mental hospital. Shot in the head. Was brought into the ER by his two nephews, who were devastated when he died, according to the police report attached. They told the ER that it was a drive by, but I think neither of us believe that.” Hotch shook his head and she cleared her throat. “And then there’s Sam. His girlfriend in college, Jessica Moore, died in an apartment fire right after he returned from a short road trip with his brother. According to the books, it was the same demon, Azazel.” She whispered the demon’s name as though it might summon him, even though she knew the books had explained Dean killing the yellow-eyed demon after Sam’s first death and resurrection. 

“And every girl he’s gotten close to since then has also either died tragically or had horrible things happen to them. Madison, the girl who got turned into a werewolf and Sam had to kill her? Was found dead in her apartment, gunshot to her heart. Coroner’s report listed a ‘silver bullet’. Sam’s college friend, Brady? His body was one of the ones that turned up after the raid on Sucrocorp and Niveus Pharmaceuticals, stabbed to death. Of any of the people in his past that I can actually track a link between them and Sam, only two are still alive.” She paused. “Sir, do you remember the serial killer case that got Agent Henrickson on the trail of the Winchesters?”

“The one that was reported to be Dean Winchester who somehow pretended to be their significant other, then tortured and killed the victims?” She nodded. “Yes, I noticed that was the shapeshifter in the book, and honestly, it would explain how they had a body and were able to write it off as closed as Dean being the killer, but then him popping back up alive some time later.”

“Yes, sir,” Garcia said. “The last victim, the survivor? That was Sam Winchester’s friend from college. Her brother had originally been held as the suspect, so she called Sam, their friend, who was going to law school, to help. Then SWAT arrives in time to find the body of Dean Winchester and several cameras showing him to be the real killer. And the killings stopped.”

“Hmmm,” he nodded thoughtfully. “What about Dean’s relationships?” She broke into a watery smile.

“Bad boy that one,” she snickered as she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes with the tissue Hotch had quietly handed across his desk to her. “The books and all the accounts I could match up to them, did not lie. He hopped from bar to bar, to woman to woman. There were two that caught his eye, but one kicked him to the curb after he told her about their ‘family business’,” she said with finger quotes. “The other was like Dean at the time, but according to the books, he went back to see her and they stayed together for a while.” 

“Lisa Braeden,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk once.

“Yes, and when I called her, she had no clue who Dean Winchester was.” Hotch’s eyebrows went up. “Remember that one book was about how Dean was turned into a vampire and his soulless brother let it happen so they could find the alpha? In the story, Dean had Castiel, his angel friend, remove her and her son’s memories of Dean so they’d be safe from his world. Poor Dean can’t catch a break either.” 

“And Castiel? James Novak?” Her eyes widened for a moment as she puffed out her cheeks, then she looked at him oddly.

“That, sir, is an entirely different ball of crazy. Insurance salesman, family man, good Christian husband and father, as vanilla as the beanpod fresh off the orchid, until Castiel, ‘angel of the Lord’, according to the books, asked him to be his holy vessel. Found his wife and daughter back living with her folks. If you read the book, then you know demons tried to kill her and Claire, the daughter, to get to James Novak, Castiel’s vessel, after he was forcefully ejected by angels not happy with his interference in their plans. But James, Jimmy offered himself back to Castiel to save them and when Castiel and his vessel were obliterated by Satan when Dean tried to stop the fight, the book said that Jimmy went to Heaven so that Castiel is now the sole occupant.” 

“It’s a lot to process, even after reading all the books.” He looked down at his hands, then up at her. “Good work, Penelope. Compile it all into a dossier file and send it to the team.” She nodded at him, balling up the tissue in her hands. “And keep up tracers to find Dean and Castiel. And keep tabs on Sam. While I’d like the think the world will keep spinning without the Winchesters to have to keep saving it, right now I think it’s Sam who needs saving. And maybe Dean and Castiel, but we won’t know until we have more information.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She stood and exited his office, leaving his door open. Hotch leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. Life as a lawyer, then as an FBI agent/profiler, he had always known there was so much more than black and white, but on meeting Sam and Dean and Castiel, suddenly, there were also colors, and shades of those colors. Nuances that shifted if you changed perspectives. He and Gideon had helped Henrickson write up the original profile on the Winchesters years ago, but now that the veil of blissful ignorance had been lifted, the profile would be something so massively different, but would probably set humanity back on its heels if they were asked to deliver it from the new perspective.

*****

Sam had been reticent after his shower. He’d thanked Reid and Rossi for finding Dean’s car and bringing it to him, thanked Rossi for putting him up for a while, but by early afternoon, he’d determined that he needed to get out of Rossi’s hair, and get some space for himself. Things had been a whirlwind since killing Dick and he remembered his desperate search, the summons, the fights. Now that he’d been brought so low as to end up nearly getting himself killed, he was nearing acceptance, but not yet ready to give up. He needed to clear his head and maybe a drive would help. Rossi had agreed, but had confirmed that Sam would be back by 9pm, as that was typically when he locked up for the night and he hadn’t had time to get a key made for Sam, not that Sam expected one. 

With the windows rolled down, Sam decided to get out of town and find some backroads, some way to clear the clutter. After an hour or so, he’d finally felt the pressure on his chest ease and he’d sighed. His mind kept drifting to the dreams from the night before. Were they just wishes that coalesced into the broken dreams? Were they snips of real visions of where Dean and Cas were? And if so, why were there no real clues. He couldn’t even put a species name to the trees or plants that he’d seen, so he couldn’t even place the part of the world where they could be. Maybe it was remnants of the delirium that he’d been having.

So deep in his thoughts, faced scrunched up, when a movement of something ahead broke his focus forward, but not in time to avoid the horrible thump and yelp. Having slammed on breaks, the threw the car in park on the single lane dirt road and dove out to run around to the front. There was blood and fur on the front bumper and laying off to the side, just on the edge of the road, was a dog, side heaving under blood covered fur. The dog whimpered, but still thumped its tail as he approached. He ran a soft hand over it’s head and cooed down to it.

“Hey, boy. I’m so sorry I hit you.” He looked around, seeing the road was deserted, as it was mostly farmland around the empty stretch. “Let’s get you to a vet, then see if we can find your owner.” He gently lifted the dog against his chest, trying not to move him too much, then fast walked back to the car, laying the bloody dog on the passenger seat. He ran to the trunk and pulled a few towels from his own duffel to wrap the dog in. 

“Hey, there ya go. Let’s go find that vet, okay?” He closed the door, racing around to the driver’s side, wiping the blood from his hands on the flannel overshirt he’d thrown on before leaving Rossi’s. He put the car into drive, reaching for his phone. When it was answered, he charged right in. “Hey Penelope. I’m sorry I don’t have time for pleasantries but I need you to track my phone and direct me to the nearest open vet’s office.” When she began clacking on the keyboard and gave him basic directions to get him started, he gave her what info he could. “I hit a dog, but I’m going to make sure he’s okay.” She finished the directions, which were pretty straightforward, and he thanked her, telling her he’d fill her in once he knew the dog was taken care of. Then he hung up and dropped the phone back into his overshirt’s front pocket. 

“Hey, boy,” he said, glancing over at the whimpering dog after making the next turn. Penelope had said the vet was straight down this road and would be about five miles up on his right. He reached his right hand over to pat the dog’s head gently. “You’re going to be okay. Hang in there.” With his eyes back on the road, he frowned. “Gonna have to get the leather professionally cleaned after this or Dean will never let me live it down. Can’t find my brother or Cas, but doesn’t mean I have to kill innocent dogs. Damn it, Sam!” He berated himself and slammed a hand down on the steering wheel. When the dog whimpered, he forced himself to calm down and reached over slowly to pet the dog again.

“It’s okay. Mad at myself, not you.” Shortly, the vet’s office came into view, on the edge of a small town, and he pulled in quickly. Running around to the other side after parking, he slid the dog, still wrapped in towels, into his arms and ran inside, yelling for the doctor. He was probably short with the nurse, and then the doctor when she showed from the back, but he was still angrily berating himself and it was leaking into his treatment of others. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed after they ushered him out of the treatment room.

He stayed to find out if the dog would be okay, and to pay for its treatment, but was thrown for a loop when the doctor, who introduced herself only as Amelia, began taunting him for being responsible enough to bring the dog in but not responsible enough to take the dog home. Eaten up with guilt already, he’d been flustered, but had agreed to take the dog. She’d laughed with her nurse, then told him to wait for her to wrap up his broken leg and ribs, which weren’t that bad, and she’d send them on their way. He’d plopped into one of the waiting room chairs and scrubbed his hands over his face. His life was so out of control right now. He needed to get himself together and the dog would just make it more complicated.

An hour later, he watched the nurse pack up her stuff, pull her purse onto her shoulder and wave at him with her car keys as she left. A few minutes later, he heard the patter of dog claws on tile and looked up to see Doctor Amelia with the wrapped dog on a leash. He smiled at the dog and went to his knees to pet the dog’s head.

“Hey, boy,” he cooed. “I’m happy you’re okay.” He glanced up at the doctor, who was giving him an odd look. 

“Well, hero,” she teased him, handing over the leash to take control of the dog. “Let me lock up and then you can walk me to my car. Heard there’s a killer in the area and someone strong and brave like you,” she said with a smirk, “would surely scare him or her away.” Sam frowned and tilted his head. Being so caught up in the search for his missing brother and friend, he’d not kept up with any of the local news, nor had his FBI friends said anything. He stood up and waited for her patiently. It wasn’t long before she was declaring the clinic ready to close and they walked out, her closing the door and locking it behind her. He went to load the dog into the Impala before walking her to her car, to keep him from doing too much while recovering, but she just looped the leash over the car’s handle and then took Sam’s arm like he was a gentleman taking her for a stroll and directed him around the side of the building to where her own SUV waited.

“I work in a farming community,” she explained as he eyed the small SUV. “I end up places a sedan wouldn’t necessarily get to. So this works.” He nodded and waited for her to unlock her door. She leaned in to drop her purse and turned back to him. 

“Thank you again,” He said, holding out his hand to shake her hand. She gave him that odd look again and before his dulled hunter senses could wake him up enough to realize something was off, she threw her arm forward, slamming a syringe into his left pectoral muscle. He jerked back, but as the needle slid out, he could tell it was too late. “What…what?” 

She shook her head, then grabbed his arm as he stumbled, dragging him to the door to the backseat. She yanked it open and pushed him towards the opening. He was already weakened and whatever she had dosed him with was working quickly. The world was growing fuzzy as he felt against the cool leather of the back seat. She hauled on him, much stronger than she looked, as she shoved him up to lay across the seat. The darkness was descending as he thought about how no one would know where he was, no one but the FBI would even know to look for him and they’d probably expect him to disappear. Until they found the car, that is. And the dog was still tied to it. Oh, no. The dog. He tried to sit up, to fight it, but Amelia, folding his legs so she could close the door, rolled her eyes and shoved it closed. 

“Heroes,” she muttered as she glanced around to see if anyone had seen her, then climbed into the driver’s seat and started the SUV. A glance in the rearview showed her that the tall man was finally unconscious. She smiled to herself. “My hero.” With that, she pulled out of the clinic driveway, not even glancing at the sleek, black car still parked by the entrance, or the injured dog straining against the leash tied to the door handle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> totally twisted!


	5. Location, Location, Location

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU finds more than they expected and Sam is helpless.

“Sir,” Garcia’s voice pipes up from the intercom on the phone in the center of the case room. Hotch looked up from the hospital reports they had finally gotten this morning after Sam had not returned last night. Their concern for his disappearance was more that he might be suicidal, and they were able to convince the hospital staff to release his records to see if it might help them figure out where he might have been, so they could work out where he had perhaps gone. 

“Go ahead, Garcia,” He said. The others glanced up from what they had been looking at as well. So far, it was only Reid, Rossi, Derek, and Hotch. JJ was on her honeymoon and Emily had flown out a day or so ago to her new job. 

“Okay, so his phone is now off but when he called me for directions to a vet clinic yesterday, he had been just outside Roanoke. Based on that, I checked with the local law enforcement and they did find his car abandoned in front of the clinic I sent him to and a dog on a leash tied to the passenger side door.” There were glances at each other.

“Any cameras in that area, Baby Girl?” Morgan asked.

“Sadly, no,” she replied, “but the dog was wrapped in bandages. LEO’s took him to the closest shelter where they said he’d been expertly cared for after a broken leg and broken ribs, but was dehydrated, probably from being tied to the door all that time. The clinic is closed today and tomorrow, but they are trying to contact the vet and the nurse who work there. The car has been towed to their local yard. I’ll work on getting it sent back to Rossi’s. Again.” 

“Thanks Garcia. Let us know if you find anything else.” He stood and crossed his arms. “Okay, let’s look at this objectively. We don’t have the contacts they do, so we would have no clue if this was a supernatural thing. So, let’s take this as a normal missing persons.” Morgan tilted his head.

“If you leave out the supernatural, in the past three months, four men, all single, driving muscle cars, have gone missing. The cars have appeared abandoned all over town, but all four men, five counting Sam, disappeared within the same 10 square miles.” 

“Hmmm,” Reid hummed. “And there are no reports of bodies found?” All of them shook their heads and Garcia responded with a ‘negative’. “Interesting. Perhaps it is something supernatural and Sam just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. And without his brother…” Rossi grimaced.

“He’s definitely not completely together. So far, we’ve really only seen him when he’s been down physically. Mentally too, but without his brother, or the angel, to back him up, I can see where he’d be easier to take down than if he were in top form.” Reid stood, tapping his finger against the paperwork on the table. 

“Guys, I think we have a case.” Hotch nodded.

“I agree. One we might not have put together without having Sam being missing. Garcia, begin compiling everything you can about the other four missing men and start cross-referencing to see if there are any other similar facts that could help us narrow down the profile of our unsub.” 

“On it, Sir! The brilliant mind and brilliant fingers of the Queen of Infinite Knowledge is at your service.” 

*****

“-something different about this one, honey,” the female voice drifted in once Sam felt himself swimming up from unconsciousness again. Seriously, he needed to get himself together. Waking up weak and disoriented twice in less than a week was a new record and if Dean was really dead and in Heaven, if Sam didn’t survive and, surely he’d end up in Hell for all his misdeeds, he wasn’t sure he could handle the disappointment on his brother’s face that the demons tormenting would wear. But if Dean and died and gone to Hell, he would never forgive himself for not trying harder to get him out and then ending up in Hell alongside him. He mentally slapped himself across the face to force his focus on taking physical inventory of himself.

He was definitely too weak to move, but the throbbing in his knees told him he was kneeling on something very hard. There was cold metal around his bare ankles so he figured shackles there, bare feet to keep him from being able to run fast even if he did break free. His shoulders were a close second to his knees and felt bent in a direction that wasn’t conducive to blood flow. With the way his head was hanging forward, he decided his arms, which were bare and numb from near his elbows down, were tied or shackled behind him, wrenched upwards and attached to something behind him. There was also something in his mouth, a hard rubber that he couldn’t dislodge. After a moment of taking stock, he realized there were straps around his head that focused on the thing in his mouth. And if he wasn’t wrong, it was one of those bondage ball gags, but it wasn’t shaped like a ball. More like a dog bone?

Shunting the initial assessment aside, he let his senses drift outward. Shirtless, shoeless, sockless. Metal shackles on his ankles, probably on his wrists too. The room was chilly but not cold enough to be worrisome yet. The room itself felt decent sized and open, like maybe a barn or a basement. Not quite echoey enough to be a barn. There were no movements around him. Nothing to determine if he was alone or if there were others there except the faint voice, but that could have been from upstairs if he was in a basement and the house was shoddily built. 

There was a reply in a male voice, but it was too low to catch more than the gruff tone. Sounded like he was either angry or frustrated. 

“I’m sorry. I know I killed her too soon. But I have her book. I’ll find it and this one, he’s got a tattoo that tells me he’s the right one!” Sam’s instincts began to ping as he realized that the only tattoo he had was the anti-possession one he shared with Dean, which probably meant that these kidnappers were probably involved in the supernatural and that never meant anything good for him when he was alone. 

The man’s reply was slow in coming, but it was less gruff. There was a shuffling overhead and Sam was again in silence. He still couldn’t move, even to wiggle his eyeballs, it seemed, but he could still hear distinctly. An interior wood door was slammed and there were skittering sounds in the room with him, probably rats. When they got close and he felt something brush against his foot, he wasn’t too worried. But when there was a sharp pain on a bared toe, he found he could move, but just enough to flinch, which caused whatever it was to skitter away. 

“Shoo!” The female voice yelled as it descended into the room. There was a rush of air as she rushed from where Sam guessed were the stairs. “I’d hate to have to kill you.” Sadly, Sam knew she wasn’t talking about him. 

There was some movement, thumping and scraping sounds, then he felt a small, cool hand touch his cheek, then his neck, feeling his pulse. The hand moved from his neck and landed on his forehead. He felt fingers touch his eye and then his eyelids were pried apart. A bright light shown suddenly in his vision and he groaned, trying to flinch away, but failing. 

“Hmmm,” she said to herself. “You’re going to have to have another dose soon. Don’t want to give you too much because you have to be alive when he takes the first bite. The preparation ritual will be rigorous enough on you as it is.” She used both hands to lift his face up. He felt her brush his stubbled cheeks. “I think I have just the thing.” Her voice held a lilt of a smile and internally, Sam felt a chill go up his spine. 

She let his head fall forward gently, not dropping it, and the movement told Sam that she was heading away from him, back in the direction of the stairs. 

“Don’t go away, hero,” she chuckled, then he heard the pad of steps up wooden stairs and the room was once again quiet. 

He sent up a silent prayer to whoever was listening.

*****

“Sir!” Garcia said quickly as soon as Hotch answered the ringing phone. The four of them were in an SUV heading to Roanoke, where all the men had gone missing. So far, Garcia had uncovered that all five missing men had been single, tall, took care of themselves physically, were considered heroic by those who knew them, drove muscle cars, and had had no ties to anyone in Virginia, that all of them had been passing through. 

“Go ahead, Garcia,” he said, laying the phone, on speakerphone, on the console. The others turned their attention to her voice.

“The nurse finally returned the local LEO’s call. The confirmed that a man matching Sam’s description was the last visitor to the clinic. He had brought in a dog he’d hit and had been prodded into waiting and taking the dog with him when the veterinarian, one Dr. Amelia Richardson taunted him for pretending to be a hero.” Garcia sighed sadly. “The nurse, one Sandra Small, said that when she left, Sam was still waiting in the lobby. Dr. Richardson was finishing up bandaging the dog, who happily, the local shelter identified by a chip as having the name ‘Riot’ and having been lost when his owners stopped for gas a week ago. He’s on his way to being reunited now.”

“And Dr. Richardson?” Rossi asked.

“Officers have not been able to contact her yet. They went by her listed address at a local motel in Roanoke. She’d just moved there after her husband was listed as MIA in Afghanistan six months ago. When he was found and returned under full disability three months ago, you’d think she would have been excited, but Sandra, her nurse, said that Amelia stayed at the hotel and her husband asked for a divorce. He bought a house in Kermit, West Virginia.”

“Kermit is about three hours from Roanoke,” Reid said. “Have the officers contacted the husband to see if he’s seen her?” Morgan chuckled.

“’About’? What happened to two hours and 43 minutes, brain boy?” Reid shot him a soft glare.

“I’m freeing up my mind for more intense study, thank you very much.” Morgan chuckled and looked away. 

“He is a disabled veteran,” Rossi said thoughtfully. “He may not have had any contact with her recently.”

“I doubt that. I don’t know a woman yet who gave up that easily on a husband who came back from military service. Unless there was trouble between them before he left.” Morgan leaned up from the backseat. “Baby girl, you find anything else?” 

“Oh, my chocolate mountain of delicious muscles, I’m embarrassed that you even asked me that.” Garcia verbally smirked. Everyone else chuckled as Morgan ducked his head. 

“Just tell us, Sweet Thing. Don’t make me spank you.” 

“Oh, the dilemma.” There was a clacking of her keys. “So, Sandra said the vet was always talking about trying to help him so they can be together again. I’m showing credit card receipts for gas and food every weekend for Dr. Richardson in or between Kermit and Roanoke. So, obviously, she has to have been in contact with him. LEO’s said he won’t answer his phone but when the stopped by his house, he won’t open the door but yells for them to leave. They did not find any vehicle on the property except the wheelchair-enabled van registered to Don Richardson, the husband.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch said. “Send us his address. We’ll go there first. As it’s the weekend, she’s probably in Kermit, even if she’s not at his house.”

“Got it, sir,” She responded. “I’ll let you know if the APB turns up anything on her SUV.” 

As Hotch hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket, he sighed. 

“I have to say,” Reid said after a moment of silence. “Before coming across Dean and Sam Winchester at Bennington, not once did I ever imagine that we’d be considering an actual supernatural cause to explain a serial killer, much less missing persons.” 

“We’re still not yet considering supernatural causes,” Hotch replied. “We’re working on the theory that it’s a very human unsub until something besides who one of the missing is directs us otherwise. Agreed?” When Reid turned his head to look out the window, but hesitated to reply, Hotch sighed. “Reid?”

“Agreed,” Reid said, his mind ticking over all the human and supernatural causes in his head that could fit the case. And as they actually had very little to go on yet, that left a lot of playing field.


	6. Heroes, All a Matter of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sam and poor, psychotic Amelia

It was another sharp pain from his toe that brought him back to consciousness and this time, his flinch was enough to send the rat running with a loud squeak. He was able to open his eyes but everything was fuzzy and blurry. He hadn’t changed positions, but apparently whatever she had given him had begun to wear off as he was also able to lift his head. From what little he could make out, he was indeed in a basement, with very little light coming from recessed lights in a drop ceiling. He could make out some piles that could be lumber and drywall, concluding that whoever owned the house had been trying to finish the basement out as an extension of the house, perhaps an apartment to rent out. 

He groaned, realizing that the numbness had spread up all the way to his shoulders, even if the sockets themselves were burning and even if he could break free, he’d have no control over his limbs for quite some time. Essentially, he was helpless. A movement from behind the stairs caused him to freeze, eyes blinking, hoping to clear his vision. 

“Ah, my hero. Awake? Ready for something to drink?” The movement turned out to the woman who had kidnapped him, coming towards him. She held a bottle of water in her hand. Once she was close and her face coalesced from the haze, he frowned at her, but automatically swallowed behind the gag, thinking how thirsty he really was. His throat clicked and he coughed. She smiled, her head tilted in sympathy. “Poor guy. Here you go.” She crouched in front of him, setting the bottle on the ground before she reached around to unclasp the gag. He tried to turn his head away, but she gripped his hair and yanked him back to where she wanted him. He gasped in surprise and she grinned at him maniacally. 

She shook his head by his hair as she brought the opened bottle up and turned the lip of the bottle up so that a little dribbled into his mouth. It was amazingly cool and sweet. He knew he hadn’t heard the lid crackle, like an unopened bottle, so he struggled to reject the liquid, but she gripped his head tighter, making him gasp again, so it was drown or swallow. He swallowed. 

“There you go,” She cooed, loosening her grip on his hair. She moved her now free hand down to stroke his cheek as she helped him finish off the bottle. “So good for me. Behaving like such a bravo hero.” She pulled back the now empty bottle and reached to replace the gag. He groaned in protest but she merely patted his cheek, then reached into her back pocket, pulling out what looked vaguely like a tin of mints. He furrowed his brows in confusion as she tilted back the lid. She sighed, licking one of her fingers, then dipping it into the tin and lifting it up so he could see the whitish powder clinging to her fingertip. “Let’s see how well this works.”

He grunted and flailed, not getting far before she set the tin on the floor and used that hand to grip his chin. His eyes widened as she moved her hand in, out of his sight as he felt her finger brush against the inside of his nostrils. One swipe in each. Her hand came up to cover the edge of his mouth, where there was a small gap that he could have used to breathe through. After a moment of holding his breath and continuing to try unsuccessfully to break away, he heaved in air through his nose, feeling something acrid flowing into his lungs. He coughed and sneezed, but she moved her other hand to cover his nose so that when he breathed in again, after sneezing, his first breath would contain the air in her palm. 

Once his lungs had stopped seizing against the foreign substance, he felt a new fog beginning to descend over him. This one was more a white haze and his eyes rolled back. He felt her touch leave him and his head lolled forward. When she began to speak again, her voice was muted but somehow he still understood her. 

“Let’s give this a few minutes to fully kick in with the water and we’ll see if this recipe works as well as those crazy people claim it does.” He sensed her moving away from him, even as his eyes closed and he heard a high-pitched sound, like a bell tinkling away. 

*****

“Mr. Richardson?” Rossi called through the door after ringing the doorbell. “It’s the FBI. We’re sorry to bother you, but we really need to ask you some questions about your wife, Amelia.” He could make out the faint outline of a figure through one of the opaque windows in the decorative door, but it was too low to be an adult, but too wide to be a child. Remembering that the veteran had been wounded, his mind supplied ‘wheelchair’. “Mr. Richardson?”

Morgan and Hotch had gone around the house, one in each direction, to make sure there were no other exits that might have been overlooked. Reid’s sharp eyes had spotted Amelia’s SUV hood sticking out from under a tarp under some trees in a field near the house, so it was a good bet that she was inside with him. They’d already checked the SUV and found Sam’s phone, dead from not being charged, in the back floorboard. Before heading up to the house, they’d called Garcia for local backup, as well as a warrant to search Mr. Richardson’s house. 

“Mr. Richardson? I’m Dr. Spencer Reid,” the tall, thin man called out. “I have many friends in the medical community. I read your file on the way here and your condition may qualify for one of the medical trials for paraplegics and military veterans are treated for no cost.” When the figure moved towards the door a little, then stopped again, still with no answer, Reid shrugged at Rossi. 

*****

“Sam?” the woman’s voice called to him. He blinked and lifted his head, the room swimming around him, a white, sparkly haze coating everything. He turned his head to follow the sparkles and grinned. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here but it he felt really good and the sparkles were entertaining. “Sam. Pay attention.” There was a sharp snap directly in front of him and he turned to see the sparkles blend into a shining face in front of him. She was petite and had dark, curly hair. She smiled at him beatifically.

“Hi,” He sighed, returning the warm smile. Her smile grew wider. 

“Hi. You remember me? Amelia, your girlfriend?” She reached forward to brush a finger down his cheek and he leaned into the shivery feeling that skated over his skin. 

“Amelia?” He asked, tasting the name on his lips. “Amelia.”

“Yes, sweetie. Amelia.” She crouched in front of him and took his face in both her hands. 

“Hi, Amelia,” he sighed happily. She looked kind and if he got this kind of feeling when he looked at her, surely she was good for him. She leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. He could hear some far away voices and a dull pounding, but his entire universe was the woman in front of him right now.

“We met at my clinic, remember?” She asked, brushing her fingers over his lips. “You brought in the dog that you’d hit? I called you my hero?” He scrunched his forehead, trying to remember. He could faintly remember a dog and blood and a clinic. Her face was there and her voice floated up, calling him ‘hero’. He smiled and nodded.

“I’m not a hero,” he sighed. Her smile softened and she kissed the tip of his nose again.

“Oh, but you are, Sam. You saved the dog and you’re going to save Don.” He blinked and tilted his head a little.

“Dean?” he asked, feeling the sparkles changing to electric sparks in his brain. She frowned then.

“No, Sam. Don. That’s why you’re here. But I need to help you up and you need to be a good boy and help me get the people outside to leave. Okay?” Sam frowned.

“Be your hero, Amelia?” He asked in confusion. She gave him a lopsided smile that made him feel uneasy. 

“Yes, Sam. Be my hero.” She leaned around him, letting him lay his head on her shoulder as she unhooked something behind him, making him fall forward heavily. She grunted but pushed him back up to kneeling. “Hang on there, hero. It’s going to take a few minutes to get you up. Okay?” He frowned into her hair, fighting to figure out why he felt so very off about this. She was so sweet-faced and kind and had helped him with the dog he’d hit. And he felt pretty good right now, so why did he not trust what she was telling him. 

From the recesses of his mind drifted up the image of a laboratory, where three men stood on the other side of the room. The dark-haired one on his right wearing a trenchcoat and what looked like white scrubs. The man in the middle was well dressed in a bespoke suit and had a bone sticking through his neck. The man on his left, though, had a brown leather jacket, short, dark hair and vibrant green eyes. His mind slowly supplied the names. Cas, Dick (who he felt he should hate), and Dean. His brother. As it clicked into place, the image changed as Dick threw his mouth wide, then exploded, leaving the space where all three had been empty. 

“Dean,” he muttered into her shoulder as he felt his arms drop down to his sides. His voice was very muffled and quiet so he wasn’t surprised when he felt her nod.

“Yes, Don. That’s right, Sam. My hero. Here to help me save Don.” She leaned him back until she could reach whatever was further back and there was another click and suddenly, his legs felt lighter. She pushed him back to sit against the wall and brought his legs in front of him, rubbing his ankles gently. “Let’s get you some socks and shoes on to cover this for now, hmm?”

He looked down as the white haze continued to fog his thoughts and caught sight of a bit of red on his toes and black and blue around his ankles. 

“Colors,” he muttered, leaning forward, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate, so he fell sideways. Amelia huffed and pushed him back up to sitting. She scowled at him, then smiled when she noticed he was watching her.

“Just let me help you, Sam.” He could hear the dull pounding from above begin again and the voices seemed to get a little closer. 

*****

They were honestly surprised when after knocking hard once again, the figure moved closer and the door opened to them. With their hands on their weapons, still holstered, they looked down at the muscular man who was seated in the wheelchair. He wore gray sweatpants, a dark colored t-shirt, and black slippers. The military haircut hadn’t really had time to grow out much, but the dark shadows under his eyes and the pale scars crawling up his neck from under the shirt showed the damage more clearly. 

“Mr. Richardson?” Rossi asked, stepping inside the doorway as the man moved the wheelchair back to let them in. He pulled out his badge to flash it for the man. The veteran grunted and turned to wheel himself down the hallway. Rossi and Reid shared a glance and followed him, Reid whispering into his phone to let Morgan and Hotch know they were in the front door.

“I know I won’t be eligible for what you offered, Dr.,” the man said once he reached an open concept living area and turned to gesture for them to have a seat, “especially when you find out what I’ve participated in.” Rossi raised and eyebrow but Reid cleared his throat, looking around the room, mentally cataloging it. 

“And what have you participated in?” He asked. As his eyes drifted over the rest of the room, a movement from their left had them all turning in that direction, weapons drawn. A door in the far wall had opened and the woman they recognized as Dr. Amelia Richardson peaked her head around the doorway. She spied the agents with their weapons and tried to plaster a smile on her face as she gripped the door to keep it from sliding further forward, to keep herself from their full view. 

“Don, sweetie,” she forced out between her clenched teeth. “I thought I asked you to give me another few minutes.” The man in the wheelchair sighed, holding up his hands. 

“Amelia, it’s over.” She dropped the smile and glared at him.

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying,” she growled at him. “Do you know how much time and effort, how much work went into getting this help for you?” 

“Dr. Richardson, step out and show us your hands,” Rossi said, stepping sideways to keep both the vet and her husband in his view. He saw something moving behind her and made some steps towards her. She turned a burning glare onto Rossi and shoved the door the rest of the way open. 

“You think you can just swoop in and ruin my plans?” She began yelling. As the door fell completely back, they could see her holding up Sam, who looked dazed and drugged, against the wall just at the top of some stairs. “Another jerk who thinks he’s being a hero when all he’s doing is ruining someone else’s life!” She turned and, before any of them could react, she whirled Sam and shoved him down the steps.


	7. Not Your Typical Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrests are made, Sam is off to the hospital, and the agents make several grisly discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to say that I am overwhelmed at all the kudos and comments on this series. I'm honestly humbled that you all think it's good enough to continue to follow along. Thank you all!

Sam heard the familiar voices from the other side of the door, and when Amelia had started calling someone else sweetie, he’d been confused. He was her sweetie, wasn’t he? And where was his dog? The white haze kept him pain free as she’d gotten his shirt over his head and his boots on his feet. He’d wavered dangerously after she’d gotten him to his feet, not only because he couldn’t feel them, but he also couldn’t feel his arms so had no sense of balance. She’d used strength he’d been surprised by to help maneuver him up the steps. He’d happily let her pull one arm over her shoulder and then leaned on the wall as she’d opened the door.

Just as he was opening his mouth to ask her if she’d prefer he left so she could be with the other man, she had yelled, then shoved him around and down the stairs. The world had tilted and swirled, the sparkles now more tiny red flames and bursts of black as he felt him become horizontal, then continue going over, his head lower than his feet, until his flailing limbs hit the railing and his head and back slammed into the steps. He felt the shock of the impacts, but as he couldn’t control anything and felt no pain, he continued to tumble, then came up short against something that gave a little and gripped him. 

“Sam!” He heard a muted voice calling him. Opening the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed, he saw the dark-skinned bald man above him, a gun in one hand, pointing up and away, the other hand gripping his forearm as Sam was caught up against his legs. He smiled dopily up at the man Penelope called ‘Chocolate Thunder’.

“Hey, Chocolate Thunder,” He sighed happily. He started to close his eyes again until he saw another familiar person clamber past the man holding him and over his legs, the gun also pointing up. 

“Stop right there!” the new man, who was now just past Sam and the other man on what Sam guessed were the stairs. Sam smiled, letting his head loll against the hard, angular surface of where he lay.

*****

“Aaaarrrrgh!” Amelia screamed in rage when she saw that a man had somehow gotten behind them and stopped Sam’s tumble half-way down. Another had clambered over them to aim his weapon at her. “Horrible, ungrateful heroes!” She turned to run, sprinting down the hallway and out the door before they could catch her. As she was unarmed, she knew they wouldn’t shoot at her. 

Rossi and Hotch darted down the hallway after her, leaving Reid to cuff and search Don Richardson, while Morgan put away his weapon and thumbed his walkie talkie button. 

“She’s heading out the front,” he conveyed to the local LEO’s Garcia had patched in. “And we need a medic in the basement, stat.” He leaned down to feel Sam’s pulse in his neck, feeling his pulse racing. Before his eyes had closed, he’d seen the pupils were dilated and it was as though his eyes couldn’t settle. In his experience, she had drugged him with something serious. It wasn’t as bad as when he’d met the tall man at the mental facility, but when those dimples had flashed at him and Sam had smiled and called him by Garcia’s nickname for him, he knew Sam was not fully coherent right now anyway.

“Morgan, you okay?” Reid called down to him after several officers had rushed in and taken custody of the veteran. Morgan looked up from where he crouched halfway up the stairs with Sam partially laying against him. 

“Yeah, Sam’s not so hot though, but he’s alive.” Reid nodded down at him, then turned and stepped back to direct two EMT’s down the stairs towards them. “They get her?” 

“Yeah, she met a few deputies on the porch,” Reid said over the heads of the men who had moved into place to check over Sam. Morgan wouldn’t let go just yet, not wanting Sam to slip further down and get any more injuries, watching and listening as the men took his vitals and fitted him for a neck collar and got him to help them slide him onto and strap him onto the backboard. With a nod and a count of three, they lifted and carried him up the stairs, finally able to even him out at the top. Hotch had slipped back into the cellar from the back where they’d come in and found Amelia’s work table, including the syringe and a medical cabinet holding some vials of different drugs. He’d taken pictures, then called up to Morgan to convey to the EMTs what he’d found so they could have an idea of what he might have been dosed with. 

Once they had him on the gurney and were wheeling him out, he and Reid headed down to the basement. Hotch and Morgan had only scanned the room once they’d gotten through the cellar door and heard her shouting, with Morgan racing ahead. Hotch had come back around the back and through the cellar door after the veterinarian and her veteran husband/accomplice had been cuffed and loaded into vehicles to take them to the local station, with Rossi riding with them to cover the FBI presence portion. 

“Sam?” Hotch asked, walking across the impressively large room to meet them at the bottom of the stairs.

“Definitely drugged, but with some testing, they’ll be able to figure out what she gave him,” Reid said, scanning the room. While Morgan’s eyes caught the metal rings and shackles attached to the far wall, Reid headed over to the workbench Hotch had been at. “Interesting,” he said as he looked over everything directly under the light that shone from the lamp above it. 

Hotch, however, frowned as he walked over to where two deep freezers sat in a far corner. He heard metal rattle as Morgan moved the rings and shackles and he heard Reid muttering to himself. With a deep breath, he lifted the lid of the first. At first glance, it all appeared straightforward, but upon closer inspection, he found that some of the meticulously stacked Tupperware-like covered bowls were labeled with some of the names of the missing men Garcia had provided, as well as others he didn’t recognize. He grunted in disgust before opening the second lid. This one only contained the folded and frozen corpse of a man he couldn’t identify but looked familiar. This corpse had a neatly sliced hole in his chest, as well as missing the top of his skull. With another grunt, he turned away, seeing one of the local deputies coming down the stairs to join the agents.

“Officer, contact hazmat and the coroner for these, please.” He gestured at the freezers, registering that the officer visibly paled once he realized what he was looking at. “Have the man, the injuries, and the parts identified as quickly as possible and have the results sent to myself and our analyst at Quantico, Penelope Garcia.”

“Right…,” the deputy gulped, trying to hold down the coffee and croissant he’d had earlier, “away, sir.” He reached up to thumb the radio on his shoulder. 

“Well, that clears up part of it,” Morgan said after glancing into the freezers and turning away. 

“And this might be the rest of it,” Reid said, lifting a book up and scanning the page before turning it, then another, then another. 

“Reid?” Hotch asked as he and Morgan came closer to the young agent. “What did you find?” They all startled when Morgan accidentally kicked an empty water bottle across the floor in his movement. He glanced down at it, then darted after it when something sparked in his brain. Lifting it up to the light, he caught a whitish residue visible just at the bottom and around the lip. 

“We need to get this to the lab, Hotch,” he said, standing up and dropping it into the evidence bag a handy deputy was holding out. “I think it was more than just the injection.” 

“I agree,” Reid said suddenly, stepping closer to the two men. “Listen to this. ‘If given in the correct dosages, during the correct time, all three will remove the will of the intended and leave the mind open to command and replace memories. Repeating the below words’…and there’s a latin phrase here that translates roughly to ‘thy will be commanded, my will supplants’…and then the instructions go on, ‘on a ley line during high noon on the winter solstice, will grant the caster complete control and submission of the intended.’” He looked up with wide eyes as he turned the book to show them the cover. “Guys, I think this is a spellbook!” 

Hotch and Morgan leaned closer, holding their breath as they looked over the very old looking book. The pages were yellowed and the cover was cracked leather. Along the spine, it was handwritten in letters burned by perhaps the author, ‘Recettes Magiques’. When Hotch lifted an eyebrow at Reid, the agent swallowed loudly.

“Magic Recipes,” he said, pulling the book back towards himself. “Guys, I think this is a spellbook, um, slash cookbook.” He nodded when everyone in the room either gasped or swallowed loudly. 

*****

Around the same time Rossi and Garcia were being caught up to date with what Reid, Hotch, and Morgan had found, Sam was suffering the second seizure since arriving at the hospital. Rossi had stopped in at the station long enough to sign off on the initial paperwork for their arrests and give a brief, preliminary report of what had happened and their observations before and during the arrests, before getting one of the deputies to drop him off at the hospital where they’d taken the tall man. He was in the police car en route when Hotch had conferenced him and Garcia into their discoveries. 

“Are you saying Dr. Richardson fancied herself to be a witch?” Rossi asked incredulously. 

“A recipe book? Like ‘Hansel and Gretel’ without the gingerbread house?” Garcia asked with disgust in her voice. 

“We don’t know if she thought she was a witch or was just playing at being one,” Hotch replied. Rossi caught the deputy behind the wheel giving him nervous side-eye. “but from what Reid found in the book, one of the spells was a recipe for them to ‘remove and mix the heart and mind of a willing hero and transfer their strengths to the one who consumed the flesh’.”

“As near as we could guess,” Morgan chimed in, “she was kidnapping men she considered strong, healthy and heroic, and then somehow getting them to let her cut out their hearts and part of their brains.”

“And then feeding them to her husband?” Rossi asked, watching as the deputy grimaced. 

“That’s totally not the valentine’s meal I’d ever want to participate in,” Garcia muttered. 

“You think it might have been an attempt to magically heal his ability to use his legs?” Morgan asked the group on the phone. 

“Probably, but what in the world did she hope to accomplish by drugging Sam? Make him willing?” Rossi asked. 

“Rossi, let me know what the doctors say. If we can find out what she gave him specifically and how he’s reacting now or what he remembers, it will do more to lead us to her intentions.” Reid’s voice was curious as he said this. 

“Right,” Rossi responded. “I’m on my way to the hospital now. The good doctor and her husband refused to talk and both invoked a lawyer. We might get more out of Sam before we get anything out of either of them.” Hotch hummed.

“Hmm. Keep us up to date, Rossi. Morgan, Reid, and I will stay and work with the local LEO’s to search the rest of the property for the other corpses and see what else we can dig up here.”

“Thank God you guys found Sam in time,” Garcia said with a deep, shuddering sigh. 

“Yes, good work everyone,” Hotch said before hanging up the phone. Rossi sighed, dropping the phone into his jacket pocket and turning to watch the scenery pass. Kermit was actually very small so the nearest hospital was in a nearby town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more chapters! Already got part 3 in my head, working away.


	8. Thanks for the Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freaking witches...

“Amelia?” Sam gasped, struggling to sit up against the wires, tubes, and covers holding him back. His eyes flew open as he felt a hand on the center of his chest.

“Whoa, Sam,” the familiar voice said, the Italian agent’s face appearing out of the darkness Sam had just escaped. “Take it easy.” Sam frowned in confusion, laying back down, but turning his head to look around. 

“Amelia?” He asked, then noticed where he was. He saw the IV in his arm, the hospital band on his wrist, the hospital scrubs, and he closed his eyes. Reaching up with the free hand, he yanked the nasal canula out and tossed it over the back of his head, feeling the formed tub bump the top of his head before it slithered off to the side. 

“Sam, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” Rossi asked, moving back a little to return to the seat next to the bed. Sam frowned again and looked around the room, then back at the agent. 

“Um, not really,” he said finally. He jerked as a doctor and a nurse came in, alerted by the readings at the nurses’ desk. 

“Mr. Smith,” the doctor said with a forced smile, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck to slide it into place in his ears. “Do you know what drugs you were given?” Sam frowned deeper, the lines on his forehead drawing into a deep vee. 

“Drugs?” He asked. “I’m not on drugs.” He looked over to where Rossi was watching him closely. “Um, right?” He reached up with his free hand to rub his forehead. 

“Can you tell what year it is?” The doctor asked as he listened to the patient’s chest. 

“2012?” Sam replied hesitantly. The nurse wrote something down on the clipboard she had picked up from the bottom of his bed.

“Excellent. Now, do you know the man sitting in that chair?” The doctor said, gesturing with his thumb before moving the stethoscope to Sam’s back. Sam glanced over.

“FBI Agent David Rossi,” Sam replied more confidently. He saw Rossi smile faintly. 

“Very good. Last question for now. Do you remember drinking anything that tasted funny or that made you feel strange?” Sam tilted his head and closed his eyes. 

“Um, Amelia just gave me a bottle of water. It didn’t really taste off, but maybe it was old because something smelled horrible after I finished it. And there were…sparkles?” He slitted his eyes open in uncertainty, looking at the doctor, who frowned, putting the stethoscope back around his neck. 

“We did find some residue inside your nose so I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the water that smelled bad.” He nodded as he pulled out a pda from his pocket, along with a stylus, and began tapping on the screen. He glanced over at the FBI agent to make sure he was listening as he read off the report. “There were traces of pregabalin in your gastric system. It’s a nerve pain reliever and anti-anxiety medicine normally only given to animals. In your nasal lining, we also found an odd mix of Ketomine and Xylazine, both anesthetics, although Ketamine does typically have dissociative properties, like a twilight sedative. And again,” the doctor said, giving a pointed look at Rossi, “used by veterinarians. But there were a few other chemicals, more herbs really, that we haven’t been able to readily identify yet. Working on those.”

Rossi rubbed a hand over his lower face as he watched Sam’s face twist and crunch as he considered what was being said. But when Sam finally spoke, it wasn’t what any of them expected.

“But the dog is okay, right?” Sam asked, looking at them anxiously. Rossi let out a breath and nodded.

“Yes, the dog was found, Sam,” he said, ignoring the questioning look from the doctor. “Turns out he was lost by a family just traveling through and the shelter who took him in after the police found your car found them using the tracking chip. I’m told they are picking up Riot, the uh, dog, later today.” Sam sank lower into the bed, nodding quietly.

“And Amelia?” He asked next, not looking at any of them. “And…Dean? Don? Dean.” His face twisted again in confusion.

“Amelia and her husband, Don,” Rossi said, holding up a hand at Sam’s sudden look of heartbreak on his face. Sam immediately steeled his face into no emotion and nodded for him to continue. “They were arrested before we were even able to get the EMTs through the front door.” Sam closed his eyes again and nodded. Rossi sighed, looking at the doctor. “Doctor, is there anything else we need to be concerned with? Were you able to fully counter whatever she dosed him with?”

The doctor coughed to clear his throat and shared a side-eye with his nurse, then he looked back down at the pda in his hands.

“We were able to counter the known meds, but in combination with the unknown herbs, chemicals, there is still something odd in his bloodwork that we haven’t been able to explain. And his body didn’t respond as completely as we had hoped, but still, it’s hopeful that he’ll work it all out of his system eventually.” He looked up at Sam, then over at Rossi. “He’ll need to be followed by a physician over the next few days just to make sure they do work themselves out.” Rossi nodded.

“Thank you, and if you find out what the ‘unusual herbs’ are, please let us know. I wouldn’t put it past this woman to have an illegal industry going on somewhere that we’ll need to locate.” Rossi eased forward to hand the doctor one of his business cards, then shook his hand and nodded at the nurse. Once they had left the room and it was just him and the hunter, he returned to his seat with a sigh. 

“Logically,” Sam said before the Italian man could speak, “I know she kidnapped and drugged me. For what, I don’t know. But, whatever she gave me and did to me, has me still only thinking of her as Dr. Amelia Richardson, the country veterinarian who helped save the dog from my mistake and then took a chance on me. I feel sad,” He said, frowning, “finding out that she’s married and was using me. More than the fact that she kidnapped me. You know?” He turned to look at Rossi, who only nodded. “It’s got to be a witch’s spell. I mean, I vaguely recall her saying something in Latin, I think. Maybe. But my mind is also trying to show me memories that I know are fake.” He huffed and ran both his hands over his face. “Ugh! This is so disturbing!”

“If it makes you feel any better, Reid did find a magical recipe book. And they found bodies and, um, body parts, of several other missing men. From what we’ve already deduced, she was using a spell to make you compliant, then you’d sacrifice yourself so her husband, who was injured in Afghanistan, could eat you and be healed.” Rossi quirked an eyebrow when Sam chuckled. 

“Yeah, sounds about right,” the tall man in the bed replied. “Freaking witches.” 

*****

A day later, Sam had been released into Rossi’s care, and Dr. Amelia Richardson and her husband, Don Richardson, were both formally arrested for killing at least 12 men and one woman after their bodies were found in shallow graves on the farm, as well as body parts in the freezers and the upstairs fridge. Sam wasn’t ready to face other agents recognizing him and arresting him in the agency building, so he was conferenced in from Rossi’s, courtesy of one Penelope Garcia. 

“We had identified four missing men before we started our search,” Morgan said from the conference room, still thumbing through the case file. “But the cadaver dogs found a total of 11 male bodies and one female body buried in the field behind the farmhouse.”

“I was able to match the first four immediately, because we already knew about them,” Garcia spoke up from the phone. “And three others were readily identifiable based on other missing person’s reports and tattoos. We’re still working on the other five men.”

“And the woman?” Hotch asked from where he sat next to Morgan.

“No luck via missing person’s reports,” Garcia muttered, “Buuuut, after all of the pictures of the dead were aired at the news conference, someone from a local coven, and yes, you heard me, a local coven, contacted the tip line to identify her as one ‘Bethany Smoulders’, a wiccan from DC. I searched that name and it was a match. Turns out Ms. Smoulders was definitely heading for trouble. She was a real loner, and apparently not by choice. On the official DC Wiccans website, no one wanted to be associated with her because of very ‘unnatural’ ideas about cannibalism.” There was a pause for a shuddering breath of disgust from the phone line. “There were murmurs of her associating with a demon and her own last post to the forums was along the lines of ‘I’ll show you all’. Or something that effect.” 

“No mention of a demon name or where she met the demon?” Sam asked from where he had his laptop set up at the kitchen island in Rossi’s mansion, where the agent was currently cutting up vegetables just across from him.

“Sorry, sweetness,” she replied. “But I’ll keep looking and I’m sure you guys will want to visit her apartment. Sending her address to your PDA’s now.” 

“Thanks Garcia,” Hotch said. “The search at the Richardson farm in Kermit also turned up a few interesting journals of her experiments and some notes on what she had done.” 

“Right,” Reid picked it up from there. “A lot of it was the ramblings of a disturbed mind, but she did mention meeting Bethany and being introduced to a ‘man with black eyes’ who encouraged her to take Bethany’s recipe book and ‘bend the rules’ of magic if she was truly wanting her husband back.” They couldn’t see it, but Rossi and Sam shared a dark glance. 

“So she killed Bethany to steal her grimoire?” Sam guessed.

“That’s my thought,” Reid continued. “Apparently, she also looked up the ingredients used in the recipes to find out what they did and found ‘equivalents’ that would be more ‘potent’, according to her notes. As well as not adhering the timing of the spells for efficacy. Dr. Richardson evidently believed that the ‘high noon on a winter solstice’ was merely a suggestion for best results.”

“Ugh, witches are bad enough,” Sam groaned, laying his head on his crossed arms. “But add in a cannibal witch and then throw a psychotic woman being directed by a demon who throws out the rules of magic and honestly? I’m surprised I didn’t wake up back in the Cage rather than the hospital.” There was a short near-silence on the other end as papers were shuffled.

“Can we track the demon down?” Rossi asked, setting a bowl of sliced carrots down in front of Sam. Sam lifted his head, eyed the carrots, then took one to munch on as he thought about it.

“If we could find his name,” Sam said slowly. “Or if Crowley wasn’t being a complete dick right now. But otherwise, it would take more information and more research. But maybe.” He shrugged.

“And how are you feeling, Sam?” Hotch asked. Sam swallowed the carrot stick he’d been chewing. 

“Better, thanks,” he replied. “Still hard to separate the fake information from the real still, but I’m myself enough to know the difference.” 

“Sam,” Reid spoke up softly. “Could you work with me on the grimoire and Dr. Richardson’s journals to see how dangerous this is to have in our hands rather than burned?” Sam perked up. “I mean, as long as it doesn’t make dealing with what happened worse.”

“Sure. I’ve kind of gone cold on Dean and Cas’ trail and need something to keep me occupied. I’m happy to stay around and help you guys until I get a lead on them.” 

“Oh, Sam, sweetness,” Garcia cooed. “I’ll keep my fingers blurring and my eyes and ears open to any hint of either one of them appearing.” Sam smiled at Rossi, then at the phone.

“I’ll send you a list of anomalies to keep your eyes open for after this call,” he said, letting the tension relax in his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're close to the end for this one. I prefer to be as close to canon as possible, so smile with me as move into 'The Return'


	9. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is back! A little canon divergence but only because not only did I rewrite Amelia's part, I hated how season eight began.

Several months later, Sam shook his head as he packed his duffel. He looked around the room in Rossi’s mansion, thinking about how long he’d actually been there, virtually in the lap of luxury for so long. He still had the false memories of Amelia and the heartbreak he still felt when those thoughts surfaced. Whatever Frankensteined version of the spell she’d done to him, she refused to divulge. She had only laughed when he’d agreed to visit her in the penitentiary on the promise that she’d tell him how to undo it. 

Her husband had killed himself a few weeks after their arrest, and Sam did not doubt it was suicide. There had been sulfur in his cell, but after the hell of combat, being injured, then being led into cannibalistic witchcraft before being arrested had been bad enough, but apparently, the demon had been inside him, egging her on, corrupting her more, until it found out that her latest victim was Sam Winchester. He hadn’t been afraid of Sam. More that he was afraid of Sam capturing him and using him to find Crowley and spoiling their plans. But Sam had only guessed at that part.

So, he was stuck with random sadness and false memories the spell and his brain had concocted of a life he’d never really had with Amelia and Riot. He sighed before turning to head down the stairs, where he met Rossi and the wonderful housekeeper who had instantly taken to Sam and his puppy dog eyes. She’d been a short, stout woman who only bowed to Rossi in terms of cooking Italian. On other things, she was queen. She hugged Sam and extended the offer for him to return with his brother any time, making Sam laugh as Rossi shot her a dirty look that conveyed how little rule he had in his own house. 

“What she said,” Rossi said, shaking Sam’s hand. “The others would be here…,” he shrugged.

“But this was a little short notice,” Sam smiled. “I know. When Penny called me all excited an hour ago, then Dean’s ‘other other’ cell phone had rung from the glovebox of the Impala in the garage, I almost had a heart attack.” The phone ringing in the garage wouldn’t even have been noticed if Rossi hadn’t been in there polishing one of his classic cars. 

“Once you find him and get all the hugs and tears over with,” Rossi said with a smirk, “bring him around. I’ll make something heart clogging just for him. And pie.” Sam barked a laugh. “If the first part won’t entice him, maybe the last part will.” Sam hung his head as he chuckled. 

“Thanks again, for everything,” he said releasing the agent’s hand. “You guys have my numbers so call if you find something supernatural, okay?” 

“Will do.” Rossi lifted a hand as Sam dropped into the driver’s seat, plopping his duffel in the passenger seat. He smiled broadly as the engine roared to life. 

“Baby, let’s go get him,” he said softly, patting the dashboard. One hand up in return to the two standing by the garage door, he drove towards Montana.

*****

“Seriously, Sam,” Dean growled. He stared at his younger brother as though he’d grown two heads. He ignored the two men who stood behind Sam, glaring at his brother. 

“Nothing says family like all your family being dead,” Sam shrugged. Dean had returned from Purgatory, no less, but he was rougher, angrier. Like all his smooth edges had been fractured into sharp points. “Dad was gone. Bobby was gone. Cas was gone. YOU were gone. Crowley had hidden Kevin and Meg somewhere and he wasn’t answering any summons. Even sent-,” Sam tried to say.

“I don’t care who he sent,” Dean yelled, beginning to stalk in front of his brother like a beast. Sam blinked, not daring to break eye contact with his brother, even for the few seconds it would take to glance back at where Morgan and Reid were standing nervously, awkwardly silent. “I wasn’t dead. In fact, I was knee-deep in God’s armpit killing monsters, which, I thought, is what we actually do.”

“Yes, Dean. And as far as I knew, what we do is the thing that got every single member of my family killed. I had no one.” There was an awkward cough from behind Sam and he flinched. Dean broke eye contact to glare over his shoulder at the two FBI agents. “I didn’t have a roadmap for being completely alone, so I fixed up the Impala, and I just…drove.” 

“You drove,” Dean replied flatly. “And did you look for me or did you just fall in love with the first woman who showed you affection and ignore the deep, abiding love we have for each other?” Sam flinched again, as one of the unwanted false memories surfaced. Dean saw the heartbreak on his face and correctly interpreted it as a woman Sam had fallen for. “That’s just great, Sam.” He turned and stormed past Sam and the agents before anything more could be said. The door to Rufus’ cabin slammed, leaving Sam standing, staring at the far wall. 

“Sam…,” Reid started, but Sam held up a hand even as his head and shoulders went down and hunched in. 

“Don’t. Just let him settle down and then I’ll talk to him. It’s okay.” Sam sighed, then headed to the back of the cabin, where the small bathroom was and pulled the door closed behind him. Morgan and Reid looked at each other. 

*****

“Unless you’re here to tell me the FBI is suddenly full of monster hunters, I don’t want to hear it.” Dean grumbled as he pulled a cooler out of the trunk of the car he’d bought after resurfacing on earth. He threw open the lid, yanking out a beer. He glanced at Morgan before popping the top and taking his first sip. “You guys here because you trying to recruit him as a former hunter?”

“If he’d agree, we’d do it in a heartbeat,” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But he had this crazy idea that his brother was still alive somewhere and nearly got himself killed several times while trying to find him.” Dean scoffed.

“You heard him. Said he quit hunting.” Derek shook his head. 

“Nah, man, never. He wasn’t actively hunting anything but you and Castiel. And that Crowley dude.” Dean shook his own head, swigging back his own beer. 

“He was staying with you guys, huh? Or the ‘girl’?” He asked with quotation fingers and a sneer. Not once had Morgan smiled after Dean had leapt on his brother with the monster tests, then laid into Sam about why he couldn’t reach him. Morgan gave a small, fond smile at the question. 

“Actually, Rossi put him up at his mansion-,” Derek said and instantly regretted it as Dean’s face scrunched up and he roared in anger, throwing the mostly empty beer bottle against a nearby tree. 

“Living in luxury, hanging out with the FBI, ignoring his JOB!” Dean yelled. He threw his arm in a gesture back to the cabin. “You really did try to recruit him! Make him forget about his real life?!” Dean started towards Morgan, but the dark-skinned agent dropped his arms and squared up. The agent met Dean part way and stuck a finger into Dean’s chest.

“Shut up and listen!” Having the normally volatile agent merely poke him in the chest and yell made Dean falter for a moment, throwing him off. “That man in there never gave up on you. We found him in a hospital, nearly dead after a demon and a vampire nearly took him out. But he still got up and took out a crazy gunman before allowing himself to pass out.” Dean blinked, pulling back a little. “Sure, Rossi took him in but the kid was antsy to get back out there. Had a freaking wannabe cannibal witch kidnap him and mess him up pretty bad, but sure, letting him heal up and help us track down demons and cannibals and witches and cannibal witches, all while Penelope was working on the search for your sorry ass, was him ‘giving up’.” 

“I…,” Dean stuttered. Derek poked him in the chest again. 

“You go ahead and toss him aside like he’s useless because he wasn’t able to find you sooner, and we’ll be happy to get him some new credentials and let him continue to work with us.” Morgan poked him once more before turning away and heading back towards the cabin, where he saw Reid’s startled face in the front window. 

“But he said there was a girl…,” Dean said, still trying to growl, itching to prove he was right for being aggressive. Morgan stopped and looked up to the sky, then sighed and turned around. 

“A witch. Whatever spell she put on him, made him believe he was in love with her so he’d be compliant while she cut out his heart and brain and fed it to her paraplegic husband.” Dean blinked. “We all looked but couldn’t find a way to remove the spell. He fights it every day to separate the fake memories from the real. He did sort of drop out for a woman, but not like you’re thinking.” Dean frowned and looked over Morgan’s shoulder as Reid’s head disappeared from the window. 

“But why didn’t he tell me that himself?” Dean asked. Morgan sighed again and walked back towards the older brother. 

“Were you ready to listen?” When Dean didn’t immediately answer, Morgan nodded and turned to head back inside. 

*****

Dark had fallen when Dean finally came back inside. Sam was seated at the small table, nursing a coffee long gone cold, with Reid seated across from him. The tall agent was muttering to the younger brother, getting a small smile, when the door creaked open, causing all three to turn their heads to look at Dean. Sam immediately dropped his eyes back to his coffee mug and sunk into his chair. Derek was sitting on the dilapidated couch, his legs propped up, but sat up and watched Dean approach the table. As the older brother got closer to the table, Sam glanced around, then stood up, keeping the chair between them. 

“Sam…Sammy,” Dean said gruffly. His face was drawn down in thought. “Can we start today over?” Sam grimaced and made a face. 

“Can we skip the silver and the Borax?” the younger brother asked, causing Dean to smile and bark a laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah, we can skip that part.” He slowly pushed the chair under the table, watching to see if Sam would back up. When he didn’t, he held out his arms for a hug. Sam released a pent up breath and stepped forward into the hug. “Sammy, I’m so happy to be back.” Sam snorted wetly into his shoulder as they clung to each other. 

“I missed you, jerk,” Sam mumbled into his brother’s shirt. There was clapping on backs and relieved smiles all around. 

“Missed you too, bitch,” Dean said as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment, he pulled back and smiled up at the taller man. “So, what do I gotta do to get an invite to live in a mansion as a wanted man?” Sam guffawed, wiping his face. 

“Actually, Rossi and his housekeeper, who reminds me of Missouri, have extended an open invite to both of us.” Dean lifted an eyebrow as he twitched. He’d been feeling antsy and agitated, a carryover from Purgatory, ever since he’d arrived, but thinking of a night in a mansion owned by an FBI agent had him nearly smiling. “Oh, and Rossi offered Italian food and pie.” Dean did smile then. 

“You had me at mansion, but the pie clenched it,” Dean said. He half turned to take in Reid and Morgan. “Um, thanks, you guys. I know you flew out here to make sure he was safe, to make sure I wasn’t some monster pretending to be his brother, but thanks for watching out for him too.” 

“You’re welcome,” Spencer smiled. “Besides, it was Garcia who spotted the anomalies that led us to be aware that you were back. Personally, I’d hate to have returned to Garcia without you. I’m pretty sure she’d have gotten my pHD’s rescinded.” 

Morgan made a face.

“I don’t even want to think what she’d do to me.” He shuddered, making Sam and Dean chuckle. 

“Well, give Agent Rossi a head’s up that we’re on the way and now that I’m back, we’ll have double the effort to find Kevin and get him back,” Dean said, rubbing his hands together. 

“Actually, you’ll give us an extra 12.5% increase as there were already eight of us working on it.” Reid said matter of factly. Dean blinked at him.

“Okay, Poindexter,” he said, “Well, that ’12.5% increase’ will be exactly what’s needed. Now that I’m back on the case, Crowley better grab those three extra inches and hold on for dear life.” When Morgan and Reid both looked confused, Sam and Dean broke into laughter. 


End file.
